“Suppose we suddenly wake up and see that what we thought to be this and that, ain’t this and that at all?” — Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums
The world is full of revelations, for the way we see the world is never really how the world is. Collect enough revelations and you learn to take what people tell you at face value. People have funny beliefs about everything from political or religious affiliation to the subjectivity of the officiating at sporting events. Waking up to the truth in the world requires humility. We all think we’ve got it all figured out. Often what we figure out is that we didn’t really have anything figured out.
There’s been a plethora of articles in business publications recently about The Great Resignation. Millions of people decided to leave their jobs and to leap into another or just get out of the rat race entirely. I know a few of these people, and easily understand their desire to change things up. Millions of people looked around and said, “This can’t be my purpose here, can it?” They finally saw that it wasn’t all this and that.
Every day offers an opportunity to review all those things we think we have figured out. All those beliefs we cling to. Every day offers an opportunity to change it all. But it also presents an opportunity to celebrate what we have. Isn’t that something?
If I could through myself Set your spirit free, I’d lead your heart away See you break, break away Into the light And to the day — U2, Bad
When you think about the trajectory of U2 prior to the ubiquitous madness of Joshua Tree, it was Bad that became the song the crowd took possession of. The band carries it, always, but it soars with the collective energy of the crowd. It was the performance that everyone was talking about during Live Aid (at least until Queen took the stage). U2 grabs moments in that way, elevating a simple song about heroin addiction into so much more.
This desperation Dislocation Separation, condemnation Revelation in temptation Isolation, desolation Let it go
Each person who hears the call in Bad feels themselves in it. We never dabbled in drug addiction but we have our own demons. Listen to it now, with the perspective of a global pandemic and yet another war and the collective addiction of social media and its demand to pick sides. Listen to it now having lost something of yourself. Listen to it having seen parts of yourself slip away. It takes on a meaning it didn’t have in simpler times.
Even with—especially with—this bruised and battered lens of 2022, the call is the same: To wake up and find hope somewhere above the darkness in the world. Above the darkness in ourselves. To let it go and set your spirit free. It remains a timeless call waiting to be heard.
If you’ve been seeking balance in your life, today’s your day. March 20 brings balance to the earth once again. The sun is positioned directly over the equator, making the day and night exactly the same. If you love the idea of yin and yang and skating the line between order and chaos, then March 20, 2022 is your happy place.
For those in the Northern Hemisphere who prefer day to night, this is good news. You’ll have more and more of the former. For friends in the Southern Hemisphere, well, you’ll have more time for stargazing and romantic evenings. The Northern Hemisphere began this slow tilt back towards the sun on December 21st on the winter solstice, and will finish its tilt and start heading back away from it on June 21st, the summer solstice. For those keeping score the next vernal equinox will occur on September 22nd.
These are the four quadrants of the year, making one wonder why the calendar year wasn’t set to these four reference points. The answer is that the calendar year was originally set to the beginning of farming season, which in Rome meant March 1. March, being the “first” month, was named for Mars (there’s an interesting article about how the months got their names here). So much of who we are today was derived from those Romans.
So, lovers of balance, celebrate today like it’s the last day on earth, because it is but a one day celebration. Tomorrow day and night are once again out of balance. The earth is permanently off-kilter, and this odd fact both explains and sustains those of us who inhabit this crazy planet. Perfect only happens 2 out of 365 days per year. For those of us who are far from perfect, the other 99.5 % of the year is our time for celebration. Cheers!
Cape Cod is a summer playground, we all know that. But what of winter and early spring? These “off” seasons are often described by well-meaning seasonal snobs as desolate and depressing. I’d argue for the stark beauty of isolation, and seek it out whenever possible. The Cape isn’t desolate off-season; it’s dormant. If you listen you’ll hear the pulse of preparation for the busy months. You’ll see the changes as houses transform from small cottages to McMansions all around you. People want to be here, more than ever, and will pay insane sums of money to have their place in the sand.
I spoke with a neighbor, who lives alone on a plot of land he bought against the strong wishes of his future in-laws for $10,000 back when the Beatles were still cranking out albums. That view is worth well over 100 times what he paid for it back in the day. But money doesn’t matter for him now, what matters is this spot and his place in it. He keeps watch on the bay, talks of old storms and the last time he saw a seal on the beach. Time flies by, and he’s one of the last holdouts from the original young hopefuls buying property in this small piece of paradise. Five and a half decades watching the tides ebb and flow teaches you a few things, and he’s happy to share lessons if you invest your time. I’m in investor in such time.
I check in on him whenever I visit the Cape, especially off-season. I might be the last person who stepped into his house over a month ago. I’m surely not his first choice for visitors but he hasn’t locked the door on me yet. I did a couple of chores for him while he settled in for story time. He spoke of old cocktail parties as I brought up a few bottles of scotch and bourbon coated in a decade of dust from his basement. His sister was coming over in a week or two (what’s time?) and they were going to light it up once again, having a cocktail with a view of the bay.
Walking alone in the thick Buzzards Bay fog the next morning, I thought of him alone in his house with the million dollar view. He’s like a lighthouse keeper forever on watch as the world changes around him. He’s both an anchor to what once was and a witness to what is becoming of the upper Cape. Walking around, I was drawn to the bits of hardscape that rose up out of the fog, to reflections in water and the sense of timeless change. We’re all lighthouse keepers in the fog, both anchors and witnesses. We hold relationships and communities together, remember the lessons of the past and share them when we have an audience willing to listen.
Fog is disorienting because our eyes have nothing to lock on to. The swirling white mist hides both the objects we seek out and the ones we hope to avoid. A lighthouse keeper cuts through the confusion and helps us realize our place. Moving around the bay, seeing objects rise up to greet me, I understood why I’d come down here alone. I was simply keeping watch, it was and always has been about the lighthouse.
Monument Beach, in the Upper Cape town of BourneCape Cod Railroad Bridge swallowed in Buzzards Bay fog
“What do I make of all this texture? What does it mean about the kind of world in which I have been set down? The texture of the world, its filigree and scrollwork, means that there is the possibility for beauty here, a beauty inexhaustible in its complexity, which opens to my knock, which answers in me a call I do not remember calling, and which trains me to the wild and extravagant nature of the spirit I seek.” — Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
Positioning this idea of beauty in the world seems quaint when wars and pandemics flood us with so much ugliness and darkness. What are we to do but find light in the darkest corners? Life is a dance along the edge between chaos and order, and we must know both. But we can’t dwell in either. Still, if we are to become what we focus on the most, why not focus on beauty?
Writing, like photography, focuses us on what we want to find in the world. We seek out wonder while our opposites wrestle for control and influence. If the world teaches us anything it’s that life is textured and imperfect and more than a little unfair. But it’s still a blessing to be here in it. To celebrate the inexhaustible beauty in this complicated world is a mission of possibility and hope. What we make of it is up to us.
The Aurora Borealis visited Southern New Hampshire again last night. I know it because reliable sources told me so, not because I actually saw it myself. But I dashed outside, cursed the bright Waxing Gibbous moon and the neighbors for their inclination to leave outdoor lights on and sought out the darkest parts of the street for… nothing. Well, nothing but the universe, which is admittedly still pretty spectacular.
When you live on the absolute edge of reach of the Northern Lights you suffer through many moments like this. What are we to do but venture northward to Aurora destinations? We choose where we live where we live for the proximity to others, not for the dance in the sky. Maybe we have it all wrong?
The act of dashing outside for the remote possibility of seeing colors in the sky isn’t unusual for me. I do it every morning to see how the universe is waking up. Many nights, wishing to properly tuck the day in for the evening, you’ll find me peeking outside for a splash of orange and pink and purple highlights. And if there’s even a hint of a meteor shower you’ll find me out in the dark like a madman, shuffling foot to foot or lying on the ground staring up at Perseus.
This all might seem crazy, but I’d suggest that watching manufactured drama unfold in 30-60 minute segments is just as crazy. I dash to greet the universe, others may dash back to the couch after a bathroom break during commercials. Both dashes might have their place in our lives. The bigger question, I suppose, is where do you want your dash bring you?
“Being busy is most often used as a guise for avoiding the few critically important but uncomfortable actions.” — Tim Ferriss
We have a love/hate relationship with busy. We all want for more quiet time, but when we get it we quickly yearn for the energy of hustle and bustle. This is compounded by the story we tell ourselves that those who get ahead are the busiest and hardest-working among us. That might help make you a Partner at one of the “Big Three” consulting firms or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. But how often do we stop and ask ourselves why in the world we’d ever want that title? It’s a Faustian bargain—a deal with the Devil to have it all now in exchange for your soul.
Screw that.
Status doesn’t mean you’re successful at living. It just means you ground out more miles. Do we ever stop to ask what really gets ground in the process? Think about the last conversation you had with a “really busy” person. Was it meaningful or a transaction? Frazzled is a posture that doesn’t highlight one’s positive traits. To be calmly efficient is a choice; just as much of a choice as frazzled. But with better hair.
We can be successful in life without sacrificing 300,000 heartbeats a week for the profitability of whatever stock symbol we happen to align ourselves with. The thing about busy is it’s a story we tell ourselves as an excuse for not doing what we really want to do. It takes courage to stop hiding behind busy.
Instead we might choose contemplation and conversation and the deliberation of taking meaningful steps. We might seek experience accumulation and relationship building. We could delight in pregnant pauses. We can give ourselves permission to celebrate deep thinking and active listening and finding the right word without Googling it. We can rejoice in finishing what we once so boldly started but put aside because we’ve been so damned… busy.
And if your feet are ever mobile Upon this ancient drum, the earth, O do not let your precious movements Come to naught. Let your steps dance silently To the rhythm of the Beloved’s Name! — Hafiz, A Wild, Holy Band
It’s easy to slip into dark places in a world where insulin and baby formula cost more per gallon than gasoline or whiskey. It’s easy to slide sideways into despair watching the news or scrolling Twitter. To grow impatient and angry with all that is wrong in the world. For that is what they want of us. To divide and provoke for personal profit seems to be the growth model of the dark side of humanity.
And yet we might dance across our time on earth as steady unifiers. We might tread softly in beautiful places and leave it as we found it as a quiet gift for those who follow us. In our silently determined way leave a message of hope for generations well beyond us to use as an anchor in their own time. Even in the darkest days we may still shine a light on something others might have missed, and offer a lifeline for those who are drowning in the stream of horror and outrage.
Surely, we can’t dance lightly across time with a heavy heart, and the world offers plenty of reasons for us to despair. But at the very same moment, while we’re focused so intently on one bit of misery, the universe offers hope and love and a reason to carry on just beyond the corner of our eye. Which do we focus on? For that is what we become.
We are Pilgrims for hope and love and spirituality. We dance across our time offering a lifeline for those who might otherwise drown in the dark. Don’t mistake the dance as blithe ignorance, but as silent vigilance. We’re here to hold it all together, not to run off the cliff waving our arms and screaming in despair. We’re here to dance with life and in our courage draw others out onto the dance floor with us. To use our dance across our time as an inspiration for others to rise.
Let’s go, my poet, let’s dawn and sing in a gray tattered world. I shall pour forth my sun, and you—your own, in verse.” — Vladimir Mayakovsky, An Extraordinary Adventure Which Befell Vladimir Mayakovsky In A Summer Cottage
We look at the world through our own lens. It’s relatively easy to be optimistic about the future when you aren’t facing a violent end, or the relentless oppression of an authoritarian government. Bullies tend to sap the creativity out of most poets and artists. But every now and then you run into one that stands up to the bully, puts their work out there and lets it speak for itself despite it all.
Mayakovsky published this charming little poem about having tea with the sun in 1920. I visit it now not to celebrate the void of positive leadership in Russia since then, but rather the resilience of the poet in the face of darkness. Mayakovsky would eventually succumb to that darkness, committing suicide a decade or so after writing this dance with light. Humans aren’t meant to live in darkness. We must find a source of energy and hope to carry on.
We choose to focus on the positive in this world, not because we’re delusional, but because the only hope for our collective future is in optimism and love. Mayakovsky’s poem ends with a radiance that illuminates us still. It offers an example to press on with our work, to fight for what is right and true. For not everything in the world slips into darkness. We still might shine.
Always to shine, to shine everywhere, to the very deeps of the last days, to shine— and to hell with everything else! That is my motto— and the sun’s!
The Omni Mount Washington Hotel was built in 1902, making it 120 years old this year. When you walk into this place, you feel the history and grandeur. It’s a time machine of sorts, bringing you back to another era. And yet it’s timeless (if a bit creaky here and there). I’d stayed here before, maybe 15 years ago. When the world seemed different. The hotel has grown since then with more than $90 million in modernizations and additions. The old heated pool is gone, replaced by a 25,000 square foot modern spa, now with a newer heated pool a longer walk away down the hill (dress accordingly).
The hotel was built by Joseph Stickney between 1900 and 1902. He died a year after it opened, but his name is still associated with the place. The hotel stayed in the family until 1944, when the hotel, closed for the war, was sold off. Having stayed here twice now, I can say the place seems to be thriving. For Omni, it’s more than just an old hotel, there’s the Bretton Woods Ski Resort, a couple of golf courses, a large nordic center and a number of other properties to manage. Unlike some owners, they’re actually improving the investment instead of milking it for all it’s worth. It’s noticeably improved in the 7 years they’ve owned it.
Any resort begins with the people who support it, and you notice a fair measure of joy in the staff working the restaurants, bars, nordic center and hotel that you don’t always see in the hospitality industry. This mix of international and local staff genuinely seem happy to be there, happy to talk to you, happy to represent the Omni Mount Washington Hotel. This set the tone for the stay, as everything seemed so… pleasant. Hard to pull that off with 800 guests staying there on the first weekend of March, when everyone was busy and the guests can be demanding.
The dining options at the hotel are more than acceptable. There are three distinct restaurants with different menus: the main dining room (which used to have a large dance floor in the middle that’s become a popular bar), Stickney’s Restaurant, and for the busy weekends, a third themed dining option in the Grand Ballroom (on our stay a Chinese food buffet with Disney movies playing for families). The food was excellent for each of the meals we had, but with a notable luxury price tag. You don’t stay and eat at an Omni without throwing down some serious cash. So staying here is either a splurge or a lifestyle choice. Reservations are required for dinner at the Main Dining Room and Stickney’s, and I’m told you ought to make those reservations well in advance. We managed a late table at Stickney’s our first night and settled for the Ballroom buffet the second night.
The bar scene is active, with all the skiers and hikers returning to celebrate the calories burned with a nightcap or three. The Cave is an old speakeasy deep in the basement that reminded us of the Cavern in Liverpool where The Beatles once played. The walls are granite and brick, and you enter through a granite tunnel. There are plenty of other places to get a drink beyond this, and we spent a couple of hours talking about life in this mad world nursing glasses of wine in the Observatory.
Naturally, there’s plenty to do besides eating and drinking. We opted to skip the skiing on our weekend and instead went snowshoeing on the groomed trails that originate at the nordic center. The trails are extensive and relatively quiet. There was just enough snow left for snowshoeing or XC-skiing, but the horse drawn sleigh rides seemed to be suspended as the snow cover in this mild winter didn’t allow it in early March.
What do you do after snowshoeing for miles? You go for a swim in the outdoor pool, of course. With the water heated to—I’m guessing—85 degrees it provided the perfect way to soak in the mild winter air with spectacular views of the White Mountains and the Presidential Range. For all the changes Omni has made, I’m glad they still offer the heated outdoor pool. It was memorable fifteen years ago in the old pool, and it surely was this time in the new one.
There’s one more thing to know about the Mount Washington Hotel, and it’s the connection to history. For the hotel was the site of the Bretton Woods Conference in 1944, when 44 Allied nations gathered at the hotel to establish the Articles of Agreement for the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development (IBRD) and the International Monetary Fund (IMF). The hotel justifiably makes a point of highlighting this history, and you can walk around the table where some key discussions happened that impact us to this day.
So there you have it. The Omni Mount Washington Hotel is a glorious destination year-round. Our winter weekend reminded us just how wonderful this place is. You’ll pay for it, but it surely is an experience worth having now and then. I hope it won’t be another fifteen years for me.
The Omni Mount Washington HotelHeated pool with Mount Washington in the backgroundSite of the Bretton Woods Conference
